A Policy of No Regrets
by sunshineditty
Summary: Allison is the hunter her grandfather always wanted her to be and Stiles reacts protectively. Teen Wolf future fic related to episode 2x10 "Fury." Not a romantic pairing. COMPLETE 2/2 Chapters. Part 1 of No Regrets 'verse
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** A Policy of No Regrets

**Author**: Sunshineditty

**Fandom**: Teen Wolf Future – future fic related to episode 2x10 "Fury"

**Word count: **2,643

**Rating: **T for language

**Summary: **Allison is the hunter her grandfather always wanted her to be and Stiles reacts.

* * *

She stood confident in her power, black compound bow casually pointed down and her finger poised on the trigger.

The werewolf delegate was sending their negotiator to try and broker peace, a contemptuous concept. There could be no peace in this world as long as wolves lived in it, but Allison was willing to hear them out. It would make getting her men into position easier for the take-down. Carefully gathered intel suggested the Hale Pack was teetering on the edge, stressed to the max by the constant harrying by the hunters; this was the last ditch effort to save them from final eradication. It was delightful news to Allison because as soon as they were completely wiped from the face of the earth, she could rest. Finally be at peace. Let her _mother _be at peace.

_"Ready, girl?"_

She winced a little at the feedback from the receiver in her ear, and darted a dark-eyed gaze to where her grandfather hid, annoyed as usual by his patronizing tone. He may have said she was the leader of their team, but his actions spoke louder. For a moment she wished her father was by her side instead, but he'd washed his hands of her five years ago, shortly after Victoria committed suicide to escape the moon's curse laid upon her. He didn't understand her drive to avenge her mother's death just as Allison didn't understand his apathy. How could he ask her to consider the consequences when she was doing this _because _of them? She hadn't understood the rules until it was too late: wolves weren't meant to be befriended or fucked. They were only good as rugs to warm her floors.

"_Easy now, girl. Keep that fire for the abomination."_

Allison blinked back the darkness threatening to drag her under and rolled her leather-clad shoulders to loosen the tightness of her muscles. After her mother's death she'd left school and wholeheartedly embraced the hunter's life finding meaning in a world gone to chaos. There was no gray areas here, just black and white, dead or not dead.

In her first year alone she'd killed Boyd, Erica, and Isaac when they'd stepped in between her and Derek Hale just as she promised. She'd tried to keep Scott out of the escalating situation, but he'd made his choice when he attacked Gerard, nearly succeeding in killing him. A small part - the helpless pathetic damsel in distress he'd loved - mourned his death, but the rest of her felt vindicated because it proved to other hunters she didn't have an Achilles Heel as many had intimated regarding her ex-lover.

After the death of such a strong wolf, it should've been so easy to hunt down Derek, now that he was an Alpha without a pack, but somehow, someway, his uncle Peter was resurrected, and the two of them went on a biting spree and created more of their cursed kind.

The two Alphas led Allison and her team on a merry chase up and down the West Coast until she'd finally cornered Peter and tore him apart. The strange smile on his face as he died still unsettled her, as did his last words: "He's coming for you." It infuriated her that he was still able to cause her nightmares, though this time she didn't have anyone to soothe her awake. Not that she needed anyone, she quickly reminded herself, because she was self-sufficient warrior.

A slight noise coming from the dark alley caught her attention and she raised her bow defensively.

"Whoa, whoa. I come in peace, o' great huntress."

Allison's brow wrinkled in consternation. "What are you doing here Stiles?"

The boy who stepped from the shadows into the flickering street light wasn't the sixteen-year-old she distantly remembered. Five years had changed him as thoroughly as it had her, and maturity looked good on him: his hair was still short, but not buzzed, and the slicked back look suited his high forehead. He wore a t-shirt and jeans as usual but the fluid way he moved was a far cry from the lanky and awkward flailing of before. It should surprise her he was the delegate - and it did a little - but at the same time it was an obvious choice.

"Still the Alpha's bitch, huh Stiles?"

His smile was all sharp teeth, but no anger. "Better an Alpha's bitch than a murdering sociopath. Kate...I mean Allison...so good to see you."

The creak of the bow was audible as she swung it up to point it in his face, but Stiles never flinched or moved, just gave the impression of lounging against a wall though he stood upright. Her fingers almost pushed the trigger when he reached into his pocket, but Stiles chuckled as he fished out a flattened pack of cigarettes and a beat up Zippo lighter.

"You mind? I know I should quit, but if I'm gonna die, at least let a man have one last smoke."

Allison could feel the tension from the hunters spread throughout the shadows. They'd expected Lydia and her guards, not a human pet, and it was screwing with their plans.

She could still salvage this.

"Do whatever you want Stiles, you always did. What the hell are you doing here?"

Stiles pulled out one long stick and pushed it between his lips, wetting the tip with his tongue; the blissful look on his face said he liked the taste.

"Well, I'm pretty much the only one left who will talk to you, you know. Your little rampage cost us wolves who knew you and might be willing to stay their claws before attacking. Everyone left now would just rip your throat out."

She sneered, her lips pulling back. "Fuck them, they deserved every death."

Stiles stiffened then, the casualness leaving his body for the first time. "Even Scott?" he quietly asked.

Allison swallowed. "It's not my fault he chose the wrong side."

"Who are you? What happened to the girl who tried to bridge the gap between hunters and wolves?"

"I grew up, Stiles. The night my mother was brutally bitten by Derek because he's a filthy abomination who couldn't help but infect others with his disease."

The pitying look and slow shake of his head infuriated her.

"That's Gerard talking, Allison. Have you ever stopped to think why Derek might've fought your mother? That he didn't mean to bite her but it was an instinctive thing?"

"Why the hell would my mother even fight him? She had no reason to."

"As if Derek did? Did you ever fucking stop to ask why the hell she was doing at the rave warehouse that night?"

Allison tilted her head consideringly. "What are you babbling about? My mother was never there."

Stiles scoffed. "Uh, yes she was. Where do you think she fought Derek? At your house? How does that even make sense?"

_"Don't listen to him. Give the signal!"_

Allison ignored her grandfather, intent on Stiles' words. "So what was my mom doing there, then, huh Stiles? Why would she go to the rave?"

"To kill Scott."

The words fell into the pool of silence surrounding her; the laughter she tried to utter failed and she faltered slightly. "She wouldn't -"

"Oh please, Allison. Of course she would! She hated Scott, especially after she found out you two were sleeping together."

"No...she couldn't have..."

Her words trailed off as her memory flashed to Scott telling her they needed to pretend to see other people, him urging her to kiss boys in front of her parents. She'd written off his behavior as moon-madness since it was so close to the full one, but that should've made him more possessive, not keen on her flaunting herself to other males.

"And you know this how?"

"After I circled the building with the mountain ash, Derek showed up and was about to go inside the warehouse when he heard a wolf's howl. He said Scott was in trouble."

"Exactly! _Derek said_. You can't trust anything out of that lying disease-ridden mongrel."

"And Scott told me about it later, after the fight at the Sheriff's station. You know, when you tried to kill Derek once again."

"You're just trying to confuse me! Stop lying to me! I'm so sick of lies."

Stiles - who was a lot closer than she thought - shook his head again, the peppery smell of him striking her nose. "If anything, it's Gerard who's been lying to you all these years. Peter saw him kill Matt and take over as the Kanima's master."

_"Stop talking to him - kill him! Kill him!"_

Gerard's voice echoed hollowly like a tiny little angel – or maybe devil, sometimes she wasn't sure which – as he tried to give the signal, but these men were _hers _not his. Once again Allison ignored him, and instead refuted what she knew was total fabrication. "If he did, why does Jackson fight for Derek now?"

"Because we freed him of the master-slave relationship and he consciously chooses now."

"As if Jackson Whitmore would ever willingly choose that!"

"You know the legend of the Kanima as well as I do. When he was able to right the wrongs of his past, he transitioned to full werewolf and isn't a lizard anymore."

Allison felt cold, her breath caught in her chest as she tried to square Stiles' version of the truth with the one that fueled her wrath – her mother being an innocent bystander and her grandfather the bastion of righteousness – and found doubt in her heart for the first time since that horrible night.

Stiles stepped even closer, perhaps sensing her momentary weakness. "I will be the first to admit that Derek was a power-drunk Alpha back then, but that night, he was just trying to stop the Kanima. He was only trying to help Scott, the boy you loved so madly and deeply, and biting your mother was a _mistake_ not his intent. "

"Just trying to help..." she faintly repeated. "Yes," Stiles urged, "all of this was never supposed to happen. You were supposed to be Scott's mate, have his pups, and live happily ever after."

His voice, so alluring and seductive a moment ago, suddenly sounded harsh and intrusive. Her grand destiny was going to be a bitch whelping a litter of furry pups? _Stiles _– and by extension everyone else they'd known – had thought that was the best Allison Argent could do? Images of Kate's mocking smile and recollections of her mother's ice-cold practicality burned her, reminding her of what she was _truly_ capable of – Argents bred their sons for battle and their daughters to lead.

_That_ was what she was supposed to do. What she _was_ doing.

"Thanks for that tidbit about Jackson, Stiles. Now we know who our next target is." Her smile was cruel as she decided she was tired of waiting. If she would only have Stiles to use as a bargaining chip, then so be it. If he died in the process of collection, oh well. "Now!"

A small beep in her ear alerted her to the trap being sprung. Her men were now in position and had cut off the only exit so Stiles was trapped in the center of the ring of abandoned warehouses, surrounded by hunters all.

Allison grinned, triumphantly. "Did you think your little sob story would change my mind? Even if all of that was true, my mother was only doing her duty as an Argent. We were entrusted with the solemn task of killing all the scourge of the earth. Once Derek Hale is dead, I will rest."

An expression she couldn't read flashed across Stiles' face, before he chuckled lightly. "I almost expect you to raise your fist and say "As God as my witness, I'll never go hungry again." At her blank expression, he muttered, "No one sees the classics anymore. Heathens."

"As fun as this has been, I think I'll kill you now. I'm sure your death will bring Derek running."

"Oh, you don't need to worry about Derek so much, Allison." Stiles drew back a pace, lighting the end of his cigarette. "You really should worry about me."

A bright light exploded from Stiles' hand, and he threw the long stick at the closest hunter, before lighting the ends of the other cigarettes in the pack. Allison squinted, taken off guard. Her blood chilled when she heard a low growl in her receiver, quickly followed by the unmistakable gurgle of death, the last sound Gerard ever made.

Swinging around, she turned to Stiles, but he was already gone and she looked around in frustration. Dark bodies were lightly dropping from the roofs onto the men lit up by Stiles' cigarettes and she growled angrily, even as her arrow whistled through the air and thunked into a wolf. Fierce satisfaction welled in her at the sound and she darted away, intent on killing more.

The next few minutes blurred into a series of snapshots of men fighting wolves, her trying to aid the other hunters, and that stupid fucking light. Allison kept her eyes peeled for Stiles, but he had somehow escaped the trap. Failure was a sour taste in her mouth, even as she sighted her crossbow onto different targets, arrows whizzing through the air with speed and precision, but she could see they were no match for supernatural strength as the missiles were swatted away or broken off where they pierced flesh.

Suddenly, however, the men grouped into a circle, their guns and tasers somehow keeping the wolves at bay, and the tides turned. At last, when more furry bodies littered the ground than human, a far off howl rose, a general calling for his troops to retreat.

Allison pumped her fist as she hung back watching the remaining hunters run after the wolves.

"Your plan failed, Stiles! We will win and you'll never get a moment's peace!" she screamed into the falling silence, unsure of where he was, but hoping he heard her. For the first time ever, she understood why a wolf would howl. She wanted to scream her victory and have her enemies tremble before her.

"No, no, I don't think my plan failed _at all_," a quiet voice mused behind her.

Allison whipped around and blinked at the red eyes staring back at her from the shadows.

"Peter told you I would come," Stiles reminded her as as he leapt for her throat.

* * *

**A/N**: I watched the latest episode and this was the first thing that popped into my mind during the scene with Allison planning the assault on the station with her dad and grandfather. And I'm sure this will draw criticism, but I actually don't hate her for wanting to kill Derek. She doesn't know the full story and Gerard is twisting the emotions of a very confused and messed up girl right now; he's using everything in his arsenal for his endgame (whatever it may be) and she's just one more pawn to be used.

While I don't know if they can all come back from the revelations, I don't think they're irrevocably broken (Derek and Scott included – yes Scott betrayed his wolf-pack, but he did it for the noblest of reasons and if Derek can't understand that, then he doesn't truly understand the concept of family. Plus, it's not like he made it very easy for Scott to come to him for help given the recent past. Do I agree with what Scott is doing? No, but I understand why he does. Do I think he's stupid for not including Stiles at the very least? There are not enough descriptors, adjectives or synonyms to describe his idiocy).

This was a quick write up and unbeta'd. Thanks for stopping by and reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** A Policy of No Regrets

**Author**: Sunshineditty

**Fandom**: Teen Wolf – future fic related to episode 2x10 "Fury"

**Word count: **2,756

**Rating: **T for language

**A/N: **I thought the first chapter would be the end, but Stiles the Alpha wouldn't let go, so I wrote this to appease his Wolfy Highness. Oh and I gave Stiles' dad a first name.

* * *

Stiles drove the truck down a quiet residential street, similar to the one he grew up on back in Beacon Hills. It was a bit surreal seeing normal _human_ interactions, kids playing on their lawns, and people sipping drinks on their porches. The late summer sun was nearly past the horizon, but it was the weekend and the temperature was seasonable, so everyone tried to hoard what was left of the light.

He could almost understand it, dimly remembering the need to cram every experience into every available minute because the countdown of life was a loud ticking in the ear. Now that he was wolf, nearly immortal without hunter interference, time stretched loose and lazy into a hazy future of endless tomorrows. It made sense now why someone would take the bite, if only to keep this feeling of superiority. Of course, Stiles hadn't _chosen_ this existence, more or less forced into it with Peter's resurrection, but five years later he'd adjusted.

_And how_.

He pulled into the driveway, checking the address against the one written down, and turned off the ignition. The engine ticked a few times as it cooled down, and Stiles contemplated the front door. He didn't bother scenting the air, knowing this was the correct house by the subtle signs on the front door and in the yard. The owner, most assuredly a hunter, had small purple flowers planted in a neat row in the shade of the porch. If you didn't know horticulture, they were a gorgeous specimen with a delicate fragrance; if you were wolf, it was both a warning and a threat. Wolfsbane didn't normally grow this far north, practically straddling the Washington-Canadian border, but it _would_ be this man who found a way to make it happen.

Sighing, deciding to stop procrastinating, Stiles exited the truck and gamely loped to the door. He'd spent a good portion of his time – when not battling Allison and her cohorts – creating a cure for his kind against the deadly flower. No one wanted to be the guinea pig for his experiments, so he'd dosed himself gradually over the last four years, until he hoped he'd built up a tolerance for Wolfsbane. He wasn't often in the thick of fighting against hunters, so he didn't have a chance to find out if it worked.

The door opened before he knocked, a gun thrust in his face. The man behind the gun was older than the years could account for, broken, lined and cragged with the pain and frustration of seeing his life's work and family fall apart.

"Chris."

"Stiles." The Taurus 9mm didn't waver. "Tell me what the hell you're doing here." The ex-hunter didn't bother asking how he'd been tracked down. Even if he'd left the hunting life, he still had contacts and had to know Danny – a computer prodigy – accepted the bite a year ago, coinciding with Jackson's return to the Hale pack after they finally wrested him away from Gerard.

"I come bearing gifts."

Chris' light gunmetal gray-blue eyes flickered to the covered bed of the truck. He didn't have the senses of a wolf – therefore couldn't smell anything – but Stiles could see his nose ripple as he tried to guess what it was.

"You didn't..." his voice faltered briefly. "If you're alive that means they're dead."

Stiles leaned against the jamb. "You knew it was going to end one way or another. We tried to broker peace, but that ended up with Peter dead, so..." he shrugged. It was a nice piece of fiction, but only Stiles knew the truth of that particular confrontation, even if Derek did suspect.

Peter, who'd murdered John Stilinski to ensure his "courtship" of Stiles ended exactly as he wanted, wasn't killed by Allison so much as Stiles ensuring he was weak enough for her sword. Stiles hadn't wanted to be Alpha, so he'd made sure Peter's wounds weren't fatal, leaving it up to the hunters to finish him off. Unfortunately his gamble didn't pay off exactly how he expected: Peter died, but he still ended up with the mantle of Alpha either because he was the next closest in rank or due to his position as the Alpha's mate.

"So you've completed the destruction of my family."

"Kate started it all – the Hales weren't doing a goddamn thing to hurt humans. Hell, they'd been in that area for generations and had never taken a human who didn't want the bite. You want to blame someone for this, blame her!"

All roads of war led back to that psychotic bitch.

Stiles felt his face change shape with his anger and knew his eyes were glowing red by the shocked look crossing the ex-Hunter's face. Very few people knew what Stiles was, beyond a wolf. He had purposely kept his ascension to Pack Leader under wraps because he had no desire to fight outsiders for his position; they were already vulnerable being landless and on the run without adding stupid pack dynamics to the mix. It was easier for everyone to believe Peter's pack was absorbed into Derek's after his uncle's death. Stiles did much better leading from behind; made taking people by surprise much easier.

"You killed Derek?" Chris' shock made little sense, coming from that angle. Guess he didn't know about Peter and Stiles after all.

The young Alpha's head canted to the right, the wolf very close to the surface. "No," he growled in response. He hadn't seen Derek in a few months, but he would've heard Derek was dead. He would've _known_ damnit. "He's still alive." He better be or Stiles would be fucking pissed. Just thinking about the other Pack Alpha eased his wolf's anger and he was able to wrest the physical changes back so he looked human again.

Chris un-cocked his gun and eased it down to the side. He backed away from the door then deliberately turned his back and walked down the hall to the living room. Stiles sniffed the air then to see if anyone else was present but couldn't smell anything out of the ordinary. He gently eased into the house before traveling the same way as Chris.

The living room was barren of any decoration or pictures, a single Lazy Boy positioned in front of a decently sized flat screen tv. Chris was already seated, his gun in his lap, eyes trained on the archway. Stiles leaned against the wall, his default position in almost any situation because it made him seem less threatening, but he suspected Chris wasn't fooled.

Not anymore at least.

"So..." Stiles drawled.

"So tell me how it ended."

A small part – the still human side who remembered being scared of this man – wanted to justify the deaths, explain they had no choice, and it couldn't have ended any other way, but the wolf was stronger and prouder. He'd defended his pack and made his enemies pay for their temerity in attacking them.

"You would've been proud of Allison, ya know. She was magnificent in her deadliness." Stiles could praise her because she was mesmerizing in everything she did, the girl torn away, and only the warrior remained. It had pained him to look at her, see what she'd become, and know she was the reason for his best friend's death, but he could still respect her strength.

"I didn't want her to become..._that_..."

Stiles nodded, knowing it was true. Chris had changed after his wife's suicide – once he was on the other side, seeing someone he loved going through the change, he hadn't the courage to kill her like he did all the wolves before her. It was only through Victoria's pleading that had enabled the older man to thrust the killing blow to her heart.

"I dunno if there was ever hope for her, especially after she killed Scott. Him dying killed the last piece of her humanity," he responded, pretending not to see the other man's flinch. Whatever had happened in the months after her mother's death had completely gutted Allison, but her grandfather's influence had warped her into a reflection of Kate. Chris might've held firm against his father, but he was too sunk in depression and the bottle to notice what was happening until it was too late.

Grief and regret were two smells Stiles was too familiar with and he sneezed to clean them from his nostrils. In some ways the Argent Clan's declaration of war had come at a good time for him; it helped him crawl from the dark hole he'd fallen into after he failed to stop Peter from turning him and killing his dad. Now that it was all over, he didn't know what he would do. He never wanted to lead the pack, had fought against the possibility, but life had a way of sneaking up on you.

Before this all started, before he went into those fucking woods looking for a dead body, Stiles had dreamed of leaving Beacon Hills and getting a law degree or maybe Criminal Justice and eventually becoming Sheriff like his father. Those tentative dreams had faded even before the Bite, knowing he could never go far from Scott and Derek because they _needed_ him in a way no one ever had.

But now? Now he was free to do whatever the hell he wanted, and he felt paralyzed by too many choices.

"What now? Has the Hale-Argent War ended?"

The quiet question burrowed into Stiles' consciousness as he debated the answer. It had started with Kate, exacerbated by Gerard, and inflamed by Allison; with their three deaths, there was no one left save Chris to continue it. Most if not all the hunters who'd supported the Argents were dead or scattered to the winds; they would need to rally behind a strong leader to finish it. Stiles, Lydia, Derek, and Jackson – the only original Beacon Hills wolves left – were never in the same zip code and only communicated through carefully planned Skype and phone calls. He felt a quivering in his chest at seeing his friends..._Derek_...again in person.

"That's up to you, Chris. I come bearing symbols of peace."

Chris' hand fluttered to the gun before resolved hardened his expression. This man was more familiar to Stiles than the broken ex-Hunter he'd been a moment ago.

"Let's see it then."

The walk to the truck was nerve-wracking for both as neither really trusted the other, but it helped having a semblance of normality surrounding them. In a way, Stiles completely understood Chris' need to be connected to human life, however distantly, since it reminded him of what was at stake.

The tarp was a little stubborn so Stiles unleashed his claws and shredded it. Chris made a small sound beside him.

"How long have you been Alpha?"

"Two years."

"You have a lot of control..." this time his trailing off was an invitation to satisfy his curiosity.

Stiles knew his ability to shift between full wolf, Alpha form, and half-turning in human form usually took years for new wolves to adjust to; hell, even Derek was impressed by him.

"I had incentive."

Peter had forced both the Bite and their mating on Stiles, taking his virginity while his father's body was still cooling beside them, and had nearly broken his will through shame. He hadn't been able to look anyone in the eye for months afterward, which caused problems with the new betas Peter turned or recruited. His cringing and passivity provoked their wolves into demonstrations of power, which nearly led to a gang-rape that Peter only stopped a moment before the first cock breached his ass. Stiles knew then, looking up at his _mate_, that any respect Peter felt for him had eroded and he hadn't let the rape continue because it was an affront to _Peter's_ power. The lower-ranked wolves had touched what belonged to the Alpha without permission and needed to be taught a lesson.

After their merciless punishment, the betas never again tried to touch him sexually, but their taunts and digs still cut deeply, and what initially started Stiles dosing himself with Wolfsbane in hopes of dying. He did sicken, though not as badly as Derek or others of their kind, and it had sparked an intellectual curiosity that led him to deriving a possible cure. In a way, the flower saved Stiles and led to Peter's downfall at his hands; him and the five betas who tried to fuck Stiles into submission.

Chris shifted uneasily, perhaps sensing the roiling emotions beneath Stiles' carefully crafted mask, and didn't press for more details. _Smart man._ Instead he helped roll the tarp back eyeing the two silver urns askance and the large box beside them.

Stiles unhooked the bungee cords strapping everything down and handed him the box first, smirking when the ex-Hunter staggered under its unexpected weight.

"Sorry, I forget my own strength sometimes."

"Riight," Chris muttered as he adjusted his hold. "What's in it."

Stiles grabbed the urns and headed back towards the house without answering. It wasn't something that should be spoken out here; this was ostensibly only a human neighborhood, but Stiles knew more about the supernatural world now, and appearances were deceiving.

They reconvened in the kitchen, covering the small little used table with the objects Stiles brought.

Chris didn't bother asking again and opened the box instead. Lying against white cotton, black magnesium alloy gleaming, was Allison's favorite compound bow and the remaining arrows in her quiver when she died from Stiles ripping her throat open with his teeth.

The sound he made was anger and sorrow combined, almost wolf-whine to Stiles' ears. A strange urge to soothe Chris came over him, but he aborted the movement before it happened; he might not be an enemy, but he definitely wasn't a friend either.

"And the urns?"

"I couldn't bring the bodies to you, so I brought next best."

The flames devouring Allison and Gerard had soothed his wolf, an ending of the cycle that started them all down this path of destruction. An Argent had started the fire, but a wolf had finished it. Stiles wished Derek could've been there in person to see it happen, but he would have to be content with the video.

"Why?" _Why would you do this for me? For the enemies who took so much from you?_

Stiles kept his eyes locked on the bow as he responded to the unspoken words. "I was never able to bury my dad and I know how it feels to lose your family."

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable; it was a moment of reflection between two men who were the last of their families felled by stupid senseless tragedy. Stiles was twenty-one, but older than his years suggested, the weight of responsibility coming to him at a very young age; Chris was Hunter born and reared, schooled in a tradition stretching back several centuries, brought to the New World with the influx of immigrants. They were men apart, steeped in a second underworld many brushed against but so few understood or even recognized.

The hand extended between them was one of peace and forgiveness; Stiles gently grasped it, his claws brushing against fragile skin but not marking it in anyway. A declaration of its own, species to subspecies, an Alpha's promise. No words were exchanged, no farewells, each understanding this was the last they would see of one another in this life.

Stiles quietly closed the front door behind him, breathing deeply as he tilted his head up to the dusky sky. The half-light veiled the stars, but his vision was sharper than a human's so he could appreciate the twinkling dots. Feeling inexplicably lighter, he dug into his pocket for his cell phone and quickly dialed a number he knew by heart.

His call was answered on the first ring. "Are you safe?"

"Yeah, it's done. They're dead and Chris isn't a threat."

"Come home now."

An Alpha's order, a lover's plea.

"I'm coming home, Derek. I'm finally coming home."


End file.
